


Perks of the Job

by systemscheck



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Bottom Shockwave, Manipulation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Other, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 03:50:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19142971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/systemscheck/pseuds/systemscheck
Summary: Autobot High Command made allowances for the needs of the frame. Shockwave normally scorned such gross indulgences, but just this once he decided it was acceptable to treat himself.





	Perks of the Job

**Author's Note:**

> Retroactively betaed by the ever-wonderful [RH](https://megatronwasright.tumblr.com).

Agent Blurr  
  
Longarm Prime sir I would like to respectfully inquire after your absence today since you normally show up punctually which is in fact one of your many admirable personal qualities and asking Ultra Magnus only led to him giving me a mysterious sidelong glance that only made me fear the worst.   
  
If you are too sick to write anything a simple acknowledgement will let me know that you still function, sir.  
  
Agent Blurr  
  
I am touched by your concern. But, do keep in mind that the use of official channels for personal communication is frowned upon.  
  
Apologies, sir. I am glad that you're well enough to reprimand me about proper decorum. May I know when you will return?  
  
The onset of a receptive breeding cycle will keep me away from work for the next three cycles.  
  
I trust your discretion not to disclose news of my condition to our colleagues.  
  
You have my word.

Shockwave stared blankly at the console, watching his own reflection in disgust. Whatever had possessed him to divulge this information had passed, leaving behind a sense of mounting horror. He was an extremely private individual by nature. Blurr’s response was far kinder than anything he had ever seen as a Decepticon, but the idea that something as irrational as the instinct to seek a mate had led Shockwave to tell him was deeply unsettling. Shockwave spent a little more time panicking until the heat protocols started to boot up in earnest and then lust drowned out every one of his higher-order thought processes.

He retired to his quarters proper where the necessary preparations were already in place: lights dimmed to a cool forty-seven percent, a pitcher of coolant on the berthside table, and most importantly the valve stimulant lying down on his recharge slab. Shockwave had felt mildly guilty while making his purchase at the interface shop, solely because of the idea of satisfying his heat with something modelled after an Autobot’s spike. Much to his relief they didn’t appear to be very different from their Decepticon counterparts. He had chosen the device with the blandest colour scheme, just stopping short of buying an unvarnished piece. His only concession to customisation was the ridged texture that comfortingly reminded him of previous heats which he’d spent with company. The proprietor had leered at him with their single yellow ocular, mouth curving upwards in a lascivious grin as they took his credits.

“Interesting choice,” they commented. “You like em bad bots, huh?”

Shockwave pushed over a few more credits. It appeared to be common knowledge that Decepticon spikes were usually modded; Shockwave filed that away for later investigation so that whoever was hawking pornvids across faction lines could be found and executed for treason. 

“You didn’t see me,” he told them. It wouldn’t do for anyone important to find out about that the Head of Autobot Intelligence had deviant tastes. Not that Shockwave particularly cared for maintaining his reputation among Autobots, but the integrity of his mission demanded as such. Megatron had demonstrated a truly staggering amount of trust by sending Shockwave this deep undercover. He fully intended to prove it well-founded. 

The other mech nodded. Shockwave grabbed the bag and took it home with the same kind of caution he normally reserved for transporting nuclear bombs. 

Now, Shockwave slipped the false spike between his thighs, warming the metal to his own normal operating temperature. When he deemed it sufficiently warm he let his panel slide open, and the shock of cold air meeting his valve aperture nearly made him close it again. Shockwave carefully used a claw to palpate the interior of his valve channel. This simple, light touch was enough to make him inhale sharply; he’d forgotten how sensitive the mesh became during heat. The channel was slick enough that he would not have to open the bottle of artificial lubricant he’d thought to buy as well. 

He came twice in quick succession. It was no good. The desire that had been licking pleasantly at the base of his spinal strut now burned uncomfortably. He felt like nothing would ever sate it. 

Shockwave desperately wanted to fling the sex toy at the wall but that would have disturbed the neighbours if they were home and make a mess too. 

Shockwave hadn’t anticipated this particular heat. He’d woken up the previous cycle with the tell-tale queasiness crawling through his circuits, which only doubled when he consulted his chronometer and realised that he was running late. Ultra Magnus himself had favoured Shockwave with a scowl when he slid into the meeting mid-way but his expression had turned far more sympathetic when Shockwave explained the reason for his delay, afterwards. 

“Next time, kindly apply for the necessary leave before the fact,” was all Ultra Magnus had to say. Shockwave had trouble hiding his surprise at the revelation that Autobot culture permitted mechs in heat to take time off. He’d been expecting to be scolded for such irresponsibility and ordered to work through it. Decepticons always put the cause first. With suppressant code patches easily available, it made no sense whatsoever to allow a sizeable portion of the combat-capable population to be taken out of action by something as petty as a heat cycle. Only a trained Decepticon medic could sign off on heat leave, and Shockwave had only ever heard of that happening twice. 

Shockwave had headed back home in a daze, only making a detour to buy supplies at the interface shop. The whole concept seemed like an unbelievable luxury. 

Now, Shockwave didn’t even have the excuse of work to distract him from the fog of arousal that was swamping his frame. He was idly circling the rim of his valve with the false spike, wondering if he should try for a third overload and knowing that it would barely satisfy him when his console beeped. Shockwave instantly dropped the stupid thing to go over and answer.

Agent Blurr  
  
How are you doing, Longarm sir?  
  
Please don’t worry if I’m neglecting my duties, it’s a slow day. 

Shockwave could imagine that the volume of the day’s workload was within normal parameters, but Blurr moved fast and grew bored even more quickly. Under the current management Elite Guard agents alternated between off-planet assignments and desk duty, with the latter serving as a downtime of sorts that occupied them more effectively than shore leave. It was the kind of arrangement only made possible by an abundance of able-bodied mechs and complacency. Shockwave despaired at the former and intended to take full advantage of all those blind spots he had ample opportunity to identify over the past seventy stellar cycles. 

Agent Blurr  
  
Badly  
  
Don’t you have a partner to assist? Medics say that’s the fastest and safest way to resolve a heat.   
  
I’m just stating facts.  
  
I can be there in 5. I haven’t claimed my heat leave for the kilocycle.   
  
Joors?  
  
Kliks

Shockwave stared at the screen a while longer, at the tantalizing promise Blurr was so readily offering. The diminutive Autobot would probably not meet Shockwave’s usual hardware requirements but if their communications were anything to go by, Blurr would certainly be a most attentive partner. Shockwave had no idea where his infatuation with Longarm stemmed from; nonetheless he would be happy to take advantage of that now.

He sent a reply back in the affirmative, attached with his address. Blurr responded immediately with a glyph expressing excitement specific to grounders, describing the sensation of one’s wheels hitting the road on a long-awaited journey. 

It was oddly sweet. Nobody in the Decepticons bothered with such fanciful syntax, and most of them were flightframes anyways. 

Shockwave got to his feet and tried to tidy up before his visitor arrived. It was a good thing that his personal effects were kept to a minimum, since Blurr arrived just as swiftly as he’d promised. Shockwave was just straightening up after clearing away the last of his datapads when he heard a dull clanging noise coming from the front door, like somebody was kicking it. 

"You could have pressed the buzzer," Shockwave said, smiling a little to show that he was not angry. He was still trying to get used to having a mouth and making this sort of positive facial expression but it seemed to work. Blurr grinned in response, all teeth, and as he stepped inside Shockwave noticed that his hands were full. 

"Refreshment," Blurr explained. "I've read—I mean, of course I know that it's a good idea to refuel more frequently over the course of a heat since one’s energy consumption would naturally increase. You wouldn't believe how heavy a few astrolitres of the stuff can be, sir, not that I'm complaining but I didn't want to put this down outside just to pick it up again." 

Shockwave waved a hand towards the small table built into a niche in the wall. The burden meant that Blurr had to move slightly slower than his usual speed, which still brought him over there faster than Shockwave. Blurr vibrated a little in his seat as he watched Shockwave flip out a blade from the tip of one finger and slide it across the packaging.

The plastic gave way neatly, pleasantly reminding Shockwave of conducting vivisections in his old lab. He pulled away sheets of protective wadding to reveal an unopened case of Energon. The shimmering liquid filling the cubes spoke of high quality and good taste, and a shady transaction that had relieved Blurr of a significant portion of his salary. Shockwave had not seen such fine fuel nor so much of it in a very long time. In keeping with his position Shockwave supposed he should be curious about the provenance of Blurr's energon, but the question of where he'd managed to get it was far less disturbing than why he had bothered to in the first place. Autobot stockpiles were only impressive in comparison to the scraps Shockwave was used to scrounging or killing for on the edges of the known galaxy, and with martial law in place on Cybertron even Autobot civilians were expected to adhere to strict Energon discipline. 

Shockwave leveled a stare at Blurr over the top of the Energon—the big beautiful pile of Energon of dubious origin. 

Blurr’s guileless optics didn’t reveal any ulterior motive more sinister than a sincere desire to help. 

“Well,” Blurr burst out impatiently, “would you like to try some first?”

Shockwave’s fuel gauge was at a healthy level but he still acquiesced to Blurr’s request, opening and delicately sipping at one of the cubes. The liquid slipped down his intake smooth as a dream. He felt better almost at once. 

“Thank you,” Shockwave said, genuinely grateful. “I don’t think I can finish this now, though.”

Blurr emptied the cube in a few quick gulps, nearly quick enough to be impolite. Shockwave supposed that was simply his normal refuelling speed. He threw the container into the trash receptacle, then took Blurr’s hand and led him to berth. 

Blurr’s palm was small and hot and could be so easily crushed if Shockwave wasn’t careful. Like most racers his frame was sleek and compact, the arresting curves of his entire being forged for aerodynamic purposes. He was too exotic to be truly appealing, possessing a beauty too unfamiliar for Shockwave to fully appreciate. There weren’t too many Decepticons from Ibex. 

Shockwave normally chose sturdier partners but he supposed that it was never too late to try new things. 

And oh, Blurr was definitely new in every sense of the word. He had come online long after the skies over Cybertron were cleared of smoke and the cities revived from rubble, and his clear blue optics had never witnessed the foundations of his entire world come crashing down. Shockwave reckoned that he hadn’t even changed his paint job yet. 

Blurr glanced around Shockwave’s personal quarters with mild curiosity, optics lingering on the pre-war data disks he’d mounted on the far wall. They were so old most of the equipment they were compatible with had all fallen into disrepair, but Shockwave treasured them like any other piece of advanced scientific equipment. It was all he had left of his former life on Cybertron, this selection of disks he’d grabbed before fleeing the planet. Shockwave hadn’t been allowed to take much with him upon his return as Longarm but they was too important to leave behind and risk getting stolen. 

“Didn’t know you were a collector, sir,” Blurr finally remarked. He was still standing near the doorway while Shockwave arranged the insulation covers on his berth. 

“I wouldn’t call myself that,” Shockwave answered modestly. “But I believe you didn’t visit to merely admire my interior decoration, Agent Blurr.”

Blurr lit up on infrared and hurried over, kneeling at the edge of the recharge slab between Shockwave’s legs. Shockwave allowed his thighs to fall apart a little further, and Blurr moved closer until the sensation of his vents puffing over Shockwave’s interface panel became truly maddening. 

He looked up to make eye contact, suddenly shy. 

“May I,” he asked quietly, taking care to slowly enunciate the words. Shockwave nodded. Blurr bent his helm and kissed the inside of Shockwave’s thigh, tongue flicking out to probe the sensitive edge of a transformation seam. Shockwave staticked. 

He’d forgotten how good it was, taking the time to build up charge. Decepticons valued efficiency above all and Shockwave realised that he’d been expecting this encounter to be no different. How glad was he to be proven wrong. 

Before long, Blurr had Shockwave panting and arcing off the berth to press closer towards his beautifully soft mouth. Shockwave barely noticed when his panel snicked open again, but Blurr instantly shifted his attention to this new target, the noise of his engine revving amplified in the enclosed area. 

Blurr made quick work of the real estate granted to him, running his tongue over the valve aperture and nipping at the anterior node with just the right amount of pressure to make Shockwave momentarily forget himself and swear in a language older than certain star systems. Thankfully Blurr didn’t seem to have heard, far too busy lapping at the lubricant leaking out from Shockwave. With Shockwave this aroused, he didn’t mind the lack of technique.

Blurr looked up in surprise when Shockwave tugged at his shoulders. 

“I want—I want to overload on your spike,” Shockwave gasped, struggling to divert power to his vocaliser. He helped Blurr clamber up onto the berth. It hadn’t been made to accommodate two people but somehow they managed to avoid breaking anything. Blurr ended up sprawled across Shockwave’s lap, a squirming, shivery mess who ground delightfully against Shockwave’s bared array. 

Blurr hissed when Shockwave stroked over the seams of his panel, teasing it open to reveal his own slick valve. Shockwave rolled a thumb over Blurr’s node and when his hand was wet with Blurr’s own fluids he started paying attention to the spike housing, circling the area until the Autobot moaned and smoothly extended into his hand. 

Like everything else about Blurr his spike was small, slim enough to fit comfortably in Shockwave’s grip. Shockwave gave it a gentle, indulgent twist. Blurr sobbed and bucked his hips, bumping against Shockwave’s frame. 

Utilising his valve usually meant that Shockwave preferred to be on top, all the better to control the pace; Blurr was slight enough to make him reconsider. He came to a decision and shifted his weight so that Blurr was straddling his thighs, their arrays scant microns from being perfectly aligned. 

Shockwave fisted Blurr’s spike. Blurr howled soundlessly, biolights flickering in an erratic pattern with no rhyme or reason. 

“I wonder how long you’ve been looking forward to this, Agent,” he whispered into Blurr’s audial, voice gone low and hoarse with arousal and heavy insinuation. “How many times have you touched yourself thinking of taking me like this in my time of need, when my processor is far too overcome by base programming to recall fraternization guidelines. Does it satisfy your Autobot sense of nobility to volunteer your services, or was this visit motivated by something more than altruism?”

Blurr shook his head so violently Shockwave nearly got thwacked in the optic by his helm fins. When he tried to speak his vocaliser only spat garbled nonsense; Blurr reset it with a loud click. 

“Longarm,” Blur said, despairing, and there was just enough illumination for Shockwave to recognize the agony on his face. He was very close. “Please.”

Shockwave was still rubbing over the tip of his spike. 

“Longarm,” Blurr repeated. He surged forward to close the distance between them; Shockwave’s combat readiness subroutines jerked alert in confusion before he registered the damp pressure of Blurr’s mouth on his. 

“You’ve been occupying a significant portion of my frontal circuitry ever since Praxus,” Blurr breathed against his lips, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant. Shockwave could hardly recall whatever they’d been doing over there, much less if he’d even met Blurr at the time. “The Elite Guard was digging up the ruins; you were fussing over all the ancient doodads that kept exploding in our faces.” 

Shockwave smiled, finally remembering. He had been glad to know that the failsafes his former associates had engineered still worked, preventing the Autobots from getting their hands on incredibly powerful technology. Shockwave was under no illusions that one day their scientists would be able to replicate those doomsday devices, but he was content with delaying that eventuality for as long as he could. 

Blurr misinterpreted the smile and returned it, nipping at Shockwave’s lips and deepening the kiss. 

Shockwave let him if only for the novelty. Decepticons never bothered with such overt displays of affection when they agreed to drill and fill; Shockwave was beginning to find that a mild pity as he discovered for himself just how enjoyable it was to have another mech investigate the inside of his mouth with an enthusiasm he normally thought was reserved for murder. 

The low whine of both their overworked cooling systems filled the room when they broke apart. Steam clouded the air between them, tinted pale blue by their optics. 

Blurr slid into him like a component Shockwave didn’t know he’d been missing all his life. 

It was a ridiculous thought, even more so because Shockwave wasn’t even wearing his real body. But there was no denying the thrill that coursed along all his wires as Blurr started to frag him in earnest, small hands curled over his tank treads. His size meant that it was no trouble for him to sheathe his spike fully inside Shockwave on each thrust, neatly striking Shockwave’s anterior node every time.

Shockwave’s overload came suddenly and violently. He curled a little around Blurr as the spasms wracked his frame, his left knee banging a little against the wall. 

A few kliks later, Shockwave leisurely floated back to full consciousness and the realisation that Blurr was still inside him, fully pressurized. 

“You didn’t—?” 

Blurr ducked his head. “It’s my glitch. My circuitry disperses charge at an unusually rapid pace; I have trouble reaching the critical mass required to achieve overload.” 

Shockwave nodded thoughtfully, recalling the attached medical dossier in Blurr’s personnel file. The strange mechanical quirk which gifted Blurr with his trademark speed also impeded his day-to-day functioning in numerous ways, and to find out that these problems followed him into the berth was very sad. But his need to overload had been quite thoroughly banished for the time being, and Shockwave was starting to feel mildly oversensitive. 

“Get off me,” Shockwave ordered, and Blurr hastened to obey.

Blurr let out a shocked little gasp when Shockwave took the entirety of his spike into his mouth, and then a whole series of amusing high-pitched yips as his superior proceeded to give him the best blowjob of his relatively short existence. 

“Th-Thanks, sir,” Blurr said awkwardly when Shockwave disentangled himself. 

“Thank you,” Shockwave replied, smiling. He was doing that a lot more lately, all because of Blurr. “Would you like to wash off now or rest a little bit first?”

Shockwave didn’t know about Blurr, but he detested having lubricant dry tacky on his armour. 

“Was that all,” Blurr asked plaintively, obviously without thinking. He flushed again on infrared. 

“I just prefer to serve Energon with clean hands,” Shockwave explained in tones of dry amusement. He knew from long experience that the desire simmering deep in his frame would flare up several times over the duration of his heat. 

And they could always do it again in the washracks. That would be convenient. 

It was. Shockwave ended up overloading an extravagant two more times on the other mech’s fingers before they finally emerged. 

Once they were seated at the table again, Blurr discreetly cracked a yawn into his Energon. 

“It’d be nice to share my own heat with you, Longarm sir. As a kind of reciprocation.” 

Shockwave put down his fuel and kissed at the low sweep of Blurr's sensor crest, just because he could. Blurr’s engine emitted a low, pleased rumble that transmitted vibrations across to his own frame. 

He wasn’t getting attached. Agreeing to be heat partners was still a far cry from performing the four acts and getting conjugated. 

Nevertheless, he could get used to this sort of employment benefits—at least before Megatron led the main Decepticon fleet home and triumphantly dismantled the last remnants of this soft, spoiled society.


End file.
